


Rhiannon

by MaxReboot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Present Day Setting, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Blood, Car Accidents, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gabriel is still edgy but not Reaper edgy, Human Gabriel Reyes, Mild Gore, Multi, Overwatch is kind of bad, Reader is presumably female but mostly gender neutral writing, Serious Injuries, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Violence, but it's cute, there will be a lot of Fleetwood Mac song references, they're not even the same Overwatch it's AU, title might give that away, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxReboot/pseuds/MaxReboot
Summary: And he says, "Rhiannon, don't go."And he says, "Rhiannon, stay."And he says, "I still cry out for you.”“Don't leave me… Don't leave me."In the earlier days of Overwatch’s Medical Research facility, controversial experiments took place that gave birth to several children with unexplainable abilities from telekinesis to time manipulation. One child in particular was born with the quiet gift of vitality manipulation. That child was you. With a single touch you could restore, but you could just as easily destroy. You were never very good at controlling your abilities, and after a grave mistake, you swear to never use your power again and live a solitary life in the woods.One night, you awaken to the scene of a horrific accident in front of your cabin. A man spills out of a smashed windshield, barely holding on to life. You watch him in horror as the life flows out of his body, and make a decision that changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

Thin rays of sunlight stream in through gaps in the worn window curtains in your room. The light bleeds in and warms your cheeks ever so slightly, but of course, not substantially enough to combat the temperature of about seventeen degrees outside. A puff of cloud-like vapor slips through your lips as you open your mouth and yawn loudly, announcing your waking to the world. You rise from your bed and stretch lazily, arching your back slowly until you feel the cold air tickle your exposed stomach; that makes you wince and quickly retreat to the comfortable warmth of your bed with a hiss.

You would have opted to stay in its protection forever, but it was Sunday, and your shift at the hospital would begin soon. You brace yourself counting to three, then toss off your blankets, dart out of bed, and slide over to the wood-burning stove. Luckily, you had thought to put wood and kindling in from the night before, so all you had to do was light a match and toss it in to get the fire going. After a few minutes, your shivering dies down, and you feel comfortable enough to get ready for the day.

*****

After a warm shower, you slip on your work uniform and boil some water on the stove for tea. You wait quietly, lounging on the couch while your eyes scan yesterday's paper for anything interesting. 

Shocked.

That is how you initially feel as you read the heading. Your brows shoot up, then you lean in closer to the page and read it again as if your eyes were somehow failing you.

**_OVERWATCH FACILITY OF MEDICAL RESEARCH SHUT DOWN DUE TO CUT FUNDING AND CONTROVERSY_ **

A violent shudder rips through your body as you see the black and white image of the lab underneath the words. So many years had passed, but it still looks so familiar to you.

You wish it didn’t.

Tears well in the crevice of your eyes as terrible memories of the lab come back to you, making you want to lash out and scream. Instead, you just stare at the paper in silent disbelief, emotions swirling through your body like a hurricane. The corners of the pages in your hand crinkle under your grasp—curling, snapping, losing its color—before it crumbles into ash-like dust. With a gasp, you toss the rotting paper to the ground and grab fistfuls of your hair, breathing heavily, eyes wide.

 _Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone._  

Your trembling knees finally give, and you fall to the floor with a dull ‘thud’. The world around you flickers like a faulty light before opting for darkness, endlessly stretching around you. Your eyes frantically search around, but you cannot see anything but the inky black that surrounds you, swallowing you up like a crumb.

Panicking, you wait. It is the only thing you can do. It is eerily still. Too quiet. All you can hear is the rapid beating of your own heart as loud as thunder crashing in your ears.

“This will be over soon, Number 3. Just reach out.”

_No._

A blurry, white form slowly stretches towards you. “They won’t feel anything. Your gift is good. It’s like Midas touch.”

_No. You’re wrong. So wrong._

Thin lines form out of the mass, extending. They’re fingers, but… _wrong_. They reach closer and closer, expanding and contracting as they open and close their palm, curling their fingers.

“Touch her. She’ll be okay.”

“No!” You screech, crumpling into a sobbing ball. You clap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the touch of the sickly looking fingers that creep toward you. A minute passes, then two, but you feel nothing. You let your eyes slowly open up to the brightness around you. It’s normal now. The sun that flows in through your windows is more intense, indicating that the sun was higher now. Quite a bit of time has passed. You’re probably late for your shift at this point, but you don’t care. What matters to you now is you’re safe. You’re free. You’re… anywhere but there.

 

*****

 

“See you tomorrow, Rhiannon!” A co worker calls out to you rummage through your locker, preparing to head home after a long day of work.

_Rhiannon._

It was the name you gave yourself after you finally escaped Overwatch. It wasn’t your birth name (you were never told), but it was better than numerical designation you were given in the lab. That was all you were to them; another number. It made you feel like an object—less than human—and as soon as you escaped that life you desperately absorbed yourself in anything that would restore that humanity. Restoration first came to you in the form of music.

You had first heard the mellow riff of Fleetwood Mac’s _Rhiannon_ as you were stumbling through the dark woods barefoot, and clad in nothing but a johnny gown. You were shivering in the cold of the night, on the verge of passing out because you had been traveling for what seemed like miles, but the sound of music grabbed your attention.

 _♪_ _Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn't you love to love her?_ _♪_

 The music was your savior. It led you to an old cabin, surrounded by hydrangea and hemlock trees. You approached it wearily, to find that there was very little furniture within, with the exception of a worn leather couch and a dusty record player.

 _♪_ _Takes to the sky like a bird in flight… And who will be her lover?_ _♪_

“You lost, Miss?” A voice asked, behind you. Warm like sunshine, smooth as honey with a subtle roughness like linen...

It was years ago.

You slam your locker shut.

It was a productive day. You wouldn’t claim that being a nursing assistant was the best job in the world, but it paid enough for you to live comfortably and it was one of the few places you actually felt like your were actually making a difference in someone’s life. The hospital in town was relatively slow paced compared to others—mostly old people who were reaching their time—and you were glad for it, because it meant you were around just enough people to be somewhat social, yet not an anxious mess.

The job made you learn that old people were surprisingly talkative on their deathbeds, and you didn’t mind. Usually a ‘conversation’ consisted of an old-timer rambling on while you quietly listened and asked that they take their pills. You had a special appreciation for it. They were mostly conservative and confused in a rapidly changing world, but they held wisdom you could only gain with decades of living under your belt.

“See ya, Jess!” You reply as you toss your handbag over your shoulder, waving goodbye to your co-worker.

 

*****

 

After what happened in the morning, you are determined to have a wonderful, relaxed night to end your day right. The sound of crackling logs echoes off the wood paneled walls of your cabin as they slowly burn in the stove. It smells warm and inviting to your nose. You watch the flames idly as you recline on the couch, sipping a cup of hot tea lightly sweetened with honey. You smile and enjoy the comfort of the plushy blanket wrapped around you, amplified by the warmth of the stove. The sound of music softly flows off of the record player, treating your ears to the mellow discography of Fleetwood Mac, your favorite band.

Perfection.

As you finish your cup of tea, you yawn deeply and feel your eyelids grow heavier by the second. Then it’s dark.

You hear the ocean; the sound of waves lapping at the shore, seagulls shrieking. The sun envelopes you in its warmth as you stand in the sand, enjoying the feeling of the tiny grains between your toes.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Rhiannon?” You hear. It’s that voice again. Warm, smooth, rough. Inviting, comforting, _familiar_.

“Incredible,” you reply, wiggling your toes deeper into the sand. Eyes closed, you inhale deeply, taking in the scent of salty wind and sea, then feel a gentle kiss land on your cheek with a chuckle. Smiling, you open your eyes. 

But nobody’s there. 

The view of an endless sea is replaced with the confining walls of your cabin. The moonlight pools in through your windows, providing a dim light for the room. Yawning, you rub the sleep out of your eyes, get up, then lazily shuffle over to your bed, determined to get some much needed sleep. 

After piling on your blankets, your eyes readily close, indicating your body longed for sleep as much as your mind did. You begin to drift yet again, the sound of seagulls distantly echoing in your ears… 

**‘CRASH!’**

The sound thunders through your cabin, literally rattling it with the force of whatever caused the sound. You jolt upward, eyes wide, heartbeat in your ears. A car horn begins to noisily blare a panicked alarm, confirming what you were beginning to suspect: a car accident. 

On impulse, you dart outside, tugging on your coat as you slip out the door. Once outside, you see the faint yellow glow of headlights, not too far from your home. You begin to dash towards it, ignoring the pain of the sharp wood and rocks that roughly collide with your bare feet with each step. The sharp stab of the forest floor hurt, but a little pain was probably nothing compared to the agony the person in the car could be in. You had always been a fast healer, anyways. You keep running, praying for the driver to be alright. Once you’re close enough to actually _see_ the scene of the accident, it’s hard to breathe.

A body spills out of the broken windshield of the car, deep red blood pooling out from under the body. It is unlikely you would recognize the person since you knew very few people, but even if you could recognize them, the face was so badly cut up with glass and covered in blood it was impossible to distinguish their features. You assume it is a male, judging by the size and build of the body, muscular and lean.

Your eyes dart around desperately as you contemplate what to do. Honestly, you doubt the driver is even alive, considering the state he’s in. There is a _lot_ of blood, which is not a good sign, and no sign of him even being conscious. Perhaps he died on impact…  
You slowly creep towards the body and examine it. He doesn’t seem to be breathing—he’s too still, too quiet. You release a shaky breath you don’t even realize you were holding in, then turn around. It’s too late, you conclude. Better to call the police and report the accident so his family can get the news a soon as possible. They need to know. 

“Ugh…”

You freeze as you hear a faint groan behind you.

He’s still alive.

You spin around quickly, and rush over to the man, now noticing the subtle sound of wheezing as he struggles to breathe. You can hardly believe it. You feel your hand impulsively twitch towards him. Of course, there was _that._

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always had the strange ability to heal with a touch of your hand. Just a tap, and cut or bruise was gone like it never even existed. It seemed to be due to something in your blood. You, yourself never got sick, and injuries would be gone in seconds.

Overwatch treated the ability like it was a toy—made you touch every type of injury, from papercuts to lacerations, and exposed you to every sickness they could get their hands on. They ran tests on you blood, tried to transfuse it into others to see if they too would gain similar abilities, but for some reason, other bodies would reject it—violently. The first person they tested began to violently convulse, screaming in a way you never thought someone could scream, as blood began to ooze out of every hole in their body. It was horrific, but the researchers refused to stop testing, blaming it on something wrong with the test subject. They tried again and again, making you watch every time, as if it would somehow stop the inevitable. You were only a _child_.

Eventually, they gave up, and it was back to touching and testing the extent of your ability, but one day, something unexpected happened. You remember it like it was yesterday; they brought in a woman, young, probably some age around twenty five. Her hair and skin resembled yours, and it made you dream that she was the mother you never knew, finally coming to rescue you. They sat her down, instructed you to heal an injury of hers—a small burn—then move on.

You did as you were told, nervous as you approached her, then felt her maternal comfort as she smiled at you pleasantly. You smiled back shyly, then placed your small hand on her injury, and concentrated with your eyes closed. You felt the subtle warmth of your power as it flowed out of you and into her, but something about the feeling was different from usual. Suddenly, a panicked wail ripped through your concentration, snapping you back into reality. You eyes flicked open, and you looked at the woman with confusion as she writhed under your touch.

“Number 3! Get away from the subject!” The supervisor screamed through the loud mic, startling you further. You quickly ripped your hand away, incoherent apologies tumbling from your lips.You looked down at where you touched her, and watched in horror as you saw that the small burn that was once on her arm had become something entirely different. The skin was withered, flakey, and completely sapped of its color. It reminded you of the way paper looked after being licked by flame. A doctor rushed in with a syringe and quickly plunged it into the woman’s arm while another person clad in a hazmat suit began escorting you out.

“I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY!” You sobbed loudly after the woman, the tears in your eyes blurring her image as you were dragged away. Ever since that day, your power was no longer seen as “Midas Touch”. Somehow, something suddenly changed that could make the effect of your touch unpredictably lethal, and now, you use it with caution.

You shiver as wind brushes against you. You have to make a decision soon, or he’ll die anyway.

You close your eyes, and inhale deeply to mentally prepare yourself. _You can do it_.

Dead leaves crunch under your feet as you approach the body, taking note of his caramel colored skin and dark hair. His faint breathing is more apparent up close. You swallow up the last of your anxiety, then slip your arms between his to pull him out of the car. Luckily, he isn’t pinned between the bent metal, so with the newfound rush of adrenaline, it is not as much as a struggle to get him out as you anticipate. You lay him on the ground as gently as you can, and quickly look him over to determine the best place to concentrate your energy. Whenever you healed, you noticed that your power traveled similar to a droplet of water—it starts in a center, then ripples out—so you just need to start it in a central location.

The man is in pretty rough shape all over, but the worst of it seems to be near his chest. The wheel probably hit him there badly. You breathe in again, imagining the power as a shimmering light within you, ready to pour out.

“I can do this.” You mumble, ignoring the tremor in your voice. You kneel beside him, quickly pluck the shards of glass from his skin, then place your hands firmly on his chest, near his heart. You can feel the faint rhythm of his heart thump against your palms. With every beat it slows, warning you that he’ll be gone within minutes. You have to act now.  You close your eyes and concentrate, feeling the subtle warmth of your power as it flows through you. Even though it’s been years since you last used it, the feeling is still familiar. Memories of oozing blood and crumbling skin flash in your mind, causing you to tense. No! You can’t remember that stuff now, or your power won’t help him.

 _♪_ _Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn't you love to love her?_ _♪_

 _♪_ _Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and who will be her lover?_ _♪_

“All your life you’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind…”

You are surprised by the sound of your own voice as you sing the words to _Rhiannon_ , your voice accompanied by the soft hum of the wind. You  wanted to only think about it, but here you are, singing. It reminded you of better times. Happier ones, filled with love and light. The comfort of a family, and someone who actually cared.

“Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win?”

His heartbeat practically claps against your palm as his heart spurs back to life, stronger, faster, _alive._ Your eyes open and you look down at him excitedly, almost disbelieving. It worked! You slap your hands over your lips to stop yourself from squealing with delight, then watch as the injuries fade before your eyes; torn skin and flesh knitting together as if the accident never happened.

It _actually_ worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Also, for those who don't know the song "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac here's a link to hear it on YouTube! It's a beautiful song, and inspired me to write this fic. <3 Whenever I make a song reference, I'll try to provide a link to listen to it for people who don't know the song (or just want to hear it again hehe~)
> 
> https://youtu.be/U_aYibUx1B8


	2. Chapter 2

You quietly study the creases in the man’s face as he sleeps peacefully in your bed, seemingly oblivious to the accident that had nearly taken his life. Soft sunlight pours onto his skin like warm honey, complimenting the warm brown of his skin and enhancing his natural contour. Your eyes trace the shapes and angles of his features curiously, analyzing him closely as soft snores slip through his nose.

You don’t mean to be invasive, but strangely, the scars that decorate his nose and cheekbones won’t go away despite your touch. It puzzles you. Usually, scars are the easiest thing to fix with your ability, so why won’t they go away? You’ve considered trying again, determined to perfect what you’ve started, but ultimately decide against it once you remember how fickle the outcome of your ability can be. It’d be foolish to risk his sure death for the sake of your ego.

You lightly trace your fingers along two scars that run horizontally along his nose, wondering how he could have gotten them. They were deep and garish—no way he did that to himself. Whoever marked him _wanted_ it to never fully heal. To remain forever, and stick out as the first thing he saw when he looked in the mirror. Perhaps it was a brand of some sort? A reminder? Or you were just overthinking it. Regardless, you were most concerned with the prospect of a weapon that made wounds even _you_ couldn’t heal. That kind of lethality you hadn’t seen since—

“Ugh…”

His waking groan was all it took to snap you out of your thoughts. You scramble away from his side, slamming your back into the wooden wall. Hard. You wince loudly through gritted teeth, but never take your eyes off of him as he slowly comes to, first blinking—adjusting to his new surroundings, no doubt—then shoots up and looks around in a panic.

“What the—! Where the hell am I?!”

You were afraid this would happen.

You slowly bring yourself off of the ground, arms raised, and approach him cautiously. If he didn’t notice you before, he definitely does now, eyes trained on you like a wary wolf. His gaze is intense, and a little unsettling, but you do not waver. Your eyes are locked on each other.

“Be still.” You reply slowly. “I’ve healed most of you, but you were badly injured and I can’t verify your internal conditions. You must lie down, and rest another day or two to be sure. I’ll explain everything once you’re in better shape.”

“That doesn’t answer my fucking question.” He growls at you, clearly growing more irate. “Where am I? Who are you?” He attempts to get out of the bed, but stops short, clutching his torso with a sharp hiss. “Fuck!”

You sigh. This is exactly what you tried to avoid.

“Look, I know you’re confused and in pain—“

“No shit!”

“—But,” you patiently continue, “it won’t help you to get too excited and move around. Like I said, you’re mostly healed, but the internal stuff probably isn’t and won’t be for another day or two. Maybe even three since you went and moved around like that.”

He silently takes in your words, considering them, then slumps down into the pillow behind him with a grumble.

“Fine, I’m lying down,” he huffs, “now would you _kindly_ tell me what the hell happened? Why am I here? Who are you? Consider the position I'm in!”

You nod. “What’s the last thing you remember?” You figure it’ll be easier to help him if you get a grasp of what he knows.

He knits his thick brows together as he thinks. “I remember… driving somewhere. Driving for a good while, then it’s all a mess. I remember a sharp pain, and blackness. That’s all.”

“Do you remember where you were going?” You press.

“Why does it matter? You haven’t answered any of my questions yet!”

“You’re right…” You acknowledge apologetically. “Sorry, it’s just hard to figure out how to say it…”

“Try me.” He replies, calm for the first time, quietly eager to embrace whatever you’re about to tell him.

You inhale slowly.

“You… were in an accident.” You pause, look at his face. He is still, not showing any indication of shock, but you can’t imagine he’s taking the news well. You continue, eyes down. “You were practically dead… But I found you, and I managed to bring you here and heal you up. You’ll be completely fine once you rest and I figure out who to contact so they can come get you.”

He’s silent as you finish, and you don’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t seem particularly distressed, which could be a good sign, or a bad one depending how you look at it. Regardless of his lack of a reaction, you can feel that he’s not okay. Sorrow leaks from him like a faulty faucet, trying its best not to disturb, yet manages to draw attention with every quiet drip that crashes into the sink bowl.

Finally, you gain the courage to approach him again, cautiously taking slow, deliberate steps towards him. He remains still as you place your hand on his shoulder, then give it a comforting squeeze. A simple gesture, but it’s filled with your sympathy. You think he can feel it. You remain that way beside him for a while, in comfortable silence, until he breaks it.

“What’s your name?”

“Call me Rhiannon.”

He nods. “Thank you, Rhiannon.”

His gratitude takes you by surprise. It’s simple, but so incredibly genuine it moves you. You smile warmly and nod back at him.

“Don’t mention it um…”

“Gabriel.”

*****

 

If you thought things would get easier after introductions, you were wrong. So very wrong.

You quickly learn that Gabriel is like a stubborn stray kitten; clearly in need but hesitant to accept. A day has passed, but he is not very comfortable with your aid, and seems wary of your kindness. Whenever you offer him anything he claims he doesn’t need it or flat out refuses. Luckily, your experience with the stubborn old people at work has taught you to maintain your composure and the patience of a saint.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Gabriel.” You assure him with a small smile. “Why would I go through the trouble of saving you if that was my intention?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Gabriel…” You sigh. It seems like he’s beyond convincing.

Unless…

You look at him with the softest gaze you can muster and pout your lips a little. It was your power move—almost always worked at the hospital, even on the most stubborn, hardened war veteran you’ve encountered.

“Pretty plea—AH!”

A soft pillow slams into your face, then falls to the floor with a small thud. You blink several times to process what just happened, then look down at the pillow at your feet in silence. You drag your eyes up to Gabriel.

“Shit. I-I didn’t mean to do that. Just don’t look at me like—ACK!”

His words are cut off as a pillow hits him square in the face. It hit him harder than you intended, but you don’t care. It’s payback for hitting you first and being so damn uncooperative. You try not to laugh as the pillow slowly slides down his face, but it’s so comical you can’t help but giggle.

Gabriel shakes his head and throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright. I deserved that.”

“You did,” you agree.

Then there’s silence. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, like a pebble in the corner of your shoe.

You begin to open your mouth to say something, but Gabriel beats you to it.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” You repeat, clearly confused.

“You were offering me food before, no?”

“Oh!”

You honestly did not expect him to suddenly comply so easily. _Nice_. Your power move _did_ work. You hide a smile from him as you turn around and rush over to the kitchen area, then return carefully holding a tray with a hot bowl billowing with steam.

“It’s a simple vegetable soup.” You say as you rest the tray on his lap. “Nothing fancy, but the lemongrass in the broth will help more than you’d think.”

Gabriel stares at the bowl for a moment before picking up the spoon and scooping up a spoonful of the broth. He makes poor attempt to “subtly” sniff it out of the spoon, then slowly brings it to his lips and drinks it. You can’t help but watch him with anticipation.

He glances at you, and you look back at him with a look that says ‘well?’

“It’s good.” he says with obvious surprise in his tone. You decide to not take offence.

You nod with a smile, then turn around to return to the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl.

“Thank you, Rhiannon.”

It’s quiet expression of gratitude, but just as genuine as the one he said when you first met. Maybe now things will _actually_ be a bit easier with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kind comments so far! I really appreciate it! <3


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